Page 10 of Bitter Arrangement

Dad glares at her. Then he turns that deeply disappointed frown on me again. “You are under no circumstances to burgle, pickpocket, or generally steal ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good. Be home in an hour. Don’t embarrass me further by getting into trouble.”

With that, he slings the bag over his shoulder and storms back out.

I lean onto my elbows and stare into my glass. Shame floods my body. My face is bright red, and I’m absolutely mortified. I’ve been yelled at by my father in public before, but that was something else.

Everyone knows about my marriage. They’re aware of what it would mean for the whole family if I mess it up. The war with the Brotherhood will rage on, and more of our young men will end up dead in the streets.

Their blood will be on my hands.

“You okay?” Cass asks gently and rubs my back.

I lift my beer and tip it into my mouth. I drink it all down in several big gulps. Once the glass is empty, I place it primly back down on a coaster and give her my biggest smile.

“Never better. Why do you ask?”

She grins back.

While inwardly I’m mortified and crumbling, aware that I have only a few weeks of meager freedom left.

Chapter4

Riley

Four weeks until the wedding.

I’ve been good.Well, relatively speaking, at least.

After Dad made me feel like an absolute idiot at the Rowdy Mule last week, I locked it down tight. No casual shoplifting, no casing any potential jaunty burglaries, nothing remotely untoward.

And I’m bored out of my mind.

All I’ve done is go for long runs and force myself through grueling gymnastics routines. If I can’t engage in my most favorite and cherished hobby, stealing worthless artifacts to add to my collection of random sundries, then I have to findsomethingto burn off all this excess energy.

I’m still in good shape at least. Even though I haven’t competed seriously since high school, I remember all my old routines, and I can still pull them off. Maybe I can’t tumble quite so high, but I’m flexible, and that counts for something.

“Riley! Are you almost done?” Dad knocks on my door, but he doesn’t come inside. It’s seven in the evening, and he expected me downstairs a half hour ago.

“Coming,” I call out, adjusting the plain white dress shirt I’m wearing tucked into a pair of black jeans. The shirt is too big—and it still smells like him all these weeks later—but I’m just barely pulling it off. “Just need a second.”

“Mr. Fong will be here any minute. I want you downstairs now.”

Dad stomps away, and I’m left looking at myself in the mirror. My hair’s in loose curls down past my shoulders, and there are bags under my eyes. No amount of makeup will make those go away. Turns out, stress is terrible for my skin.

I try to smile. It looks weird. I lift the collar of the shirt and breathe in deeply, letting the last remnants of his smell linger in the back of my head. Ever since I broke into his house, I’ve gotten myself off in this shirt at least a dozen times, and I keep wearing it out in public like it’s some kind of talisman.

But tonight, it doesn’t ease the sting.

In one month, I’m going to get married, and it feels like I’m going to do it in front of a firing squad.

I do, and thenbam, they’ll blow off my head.

That might be preferable to being married, actually.

I hear the doorbell ring and Dad’s voice echo up the hall. With a sigh, I head down the main steps to find an attractive man standing with my father.

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